The Point of You
by yellowcrayon7
Summary: Set after "Amy's Choice." Amy can't sleep, and the Doctor helps her process the events of the day. Can she recover from having to doubt her own mind after 12 years of being called crazy? Could be read as Amy/11, but really just a friendship fic. Fluffy.


Amy stepped quietly into the console room, her fuzzy rainbow sock clad feet silent on the metal stairs. The Doctor was fiddling with something on the console, with a book in what looked like Greek balanced in one hand and a delicate china cup with what smelt like chamomile tea in the other. His screwdriver was gripped between his teeth and he was mumbling to himself about tannins as he gently tipped the tea into his latest gadget, which resembled a cross between a particularly gruesome medieval torture device and an expensive Cuisinart appliance.

He looked up when she reached the floor and started softly towards him. For a moment he seemed to panic about where to put everything down, but then he spat out the screwdriver with impressive aim onto a flat spot of the console, snapped the book closed, and downed the remaining tea in one gulp before hooking the cup on a dangling lever by its handle. Amy couldn't help but be slightly amused. "Need something?" he asked with a grin.

She shook her head as she settled into one of the jump seats, arms wound stiffly across her stomach. "Just couldn't sleep."

"Don't blame you," he said, leaning back on the console to face her, but the concern had not quite left his face. "And Rory?"

"He was exhausted."

"Can't blame him, either. Wicked stuff, that pollen. Messes with your head a bit. Are you sure you're okay?" He tilted his head to meet her eyes, vaguely gesturing towards his own stomach.

Amy looked down to realize she'd been gripping her abdomen tightly the whole time. She relaxed her arms and let them fall to her side, forcing a smile. "Fine. Just a weird day. I can still almost feel it," she responded, her voice drifting towards the end.

"The baby?"

"Yeah. It was so real. The cold, too. The way we believed all of that was actually happening… it's like, I don't know if I can trust anything even now. I could have fallen asleep hours ago and be dreaming you here, with your stinking herbal tea and everything and I wouldn't know."

The Doctor moved to sit down next to her. "There's always a little bit of doubt, but the point's lost if you focus on that. Who cares if I'm real when I can still do this!" At this he swept her into a bear hug, squeezing her tightly around the shoulders. After a moment he pulled away but left his hands on her upper arms, gently stroking up and down. "A little bit of betrayal from your own senses once and a while, keeps you on your toes. But tiptoeing can get mighty tiring, don't know how those ballerina girls do it, so you've just got to believe sometimes. Right?" He let go of her with a smile and settled back into the jump seat, satisfied.

"Right," she started hesitantly. He turned to look at her, but her face was partly hidden by the curtain of her brilliant hair. Her voice sounded distant when she continued, "It's just, I can't stand not being able to trust my own brain. I thought that was over when you came back. I thought I was finally, permanently…"

"What?" he asked softly, frowning as he angled his body closer to her, trying to see her face.

"Sane," she finished, her voice shuddering a little. The Doctor reached up and brushed back the lock of hair that had been concealing her, tucking it behind her ear, to find her eyes dripping with tears and her lip trembling. She looked at him fully for the first time since the ordeal, and he saw the fear in her eyes. "Four psychiatrists, Doctor. Twelve years of people telling me I was crazy, I was wrong, giving me pills to make me stop 'hallucinating…'"she trailed off, her voice too shaky to continue. The Doctor hadn't moved his hand from the side of her face, and he was now stroking her hair slowly while his thumb pushed aside her tears.

"Amy. Amy, Amy, Amelia Pond. Brilliant, magnificent, fantastic Amy Pond. My sweet Amelia, you are so completely and utterly sane. Believe me," he said, as he reached around her shoulder and pulled her to his chest, where she broke down, sobbing with great choking breaths, "I would know—" He leaned close so his lips were almost touching her ear, "I'm a madman."

Amy took a last shuddering breath and the Doctor felt the hand that had been clutching his lapel slacken slightly. Her voice was thick but strong when she said, "I'll always believe in you, Doctor. I'm sorry I ever doubted, and I'm sorry for what I said today. Please… understand that I chose Rory, but not that world. I'm not leaving anytime soon, okay?" She pulled back, wiping her remaining tears on her sleeve. The Doctor nodded, and a sense of relief settled within him. "And I'm not getting pregnant anytime soon, either. Blimey that was uncomfortable."

The Doctor chuckled, and Amy joined him, her face breaking into a smile. She leaned her head back against the seat, and he copied her movement, lacing his hands in his lap as he rested his head and shifted to look at her. "I believe in you too, Amelia Pond." She grinned and her eyes flickered slightly, betraying her exhaustion. "Now, to bed with you! Lots of running tomorrow, inevitably, got to be rested up! Come along, Amy," he said, planting a quick kiss on her forehead before standing and pulling her out of the seat. He twirled her around and pushed her gently towards the stairs. She began to climb, but turned back at the top, her eyes still moist but her face no longer reddened from crying.

"Sweet dreams, Doctor."

"Sweet dreams, Amy."

She turned again and the Doctor sighed, picking up his Greek book and paging through to find his spot. After a moment, though, he thought better of it and left the book on the console, the screwdriver marking his page, as he too mounted the staircase. At the edge of the console room he paused, reached up and yanked a thin chain suspended from the TARDIS ceiling. The lights surrounding the console immediately dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the console itself as it hummed and undulated, drifting on through the vortex past galaxies and nebulas and millennia of dreamers reshaping the universe with their minds each night.


End file.
